


The Portrait

by lillpon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, father-daughter bonding, mention of past character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 21:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillpon/pseuds/lillpon
Summary: 12-year-old Hope finds the portrait of Killian's first love.





	The Portrait

“Are you ready, love?” Killian asked as they both stepped aboard the Jolly Roger.

“Yes!” Hope said. She was nearly bouncing up and down from excitement, her wild curls moving with her as well. It was far from rare that the two were going sailing; it didn't mean she was anticipating it any less.

_Truly her father's daughter_ , he thought with unrestrained pride.

“Oh, one thing, could you fetch me a new compass? The one I had broke, there's a new one in the brown chest on my desk.”

“Yup,” she said and ran off to his quarters.

He made quick work to gather the rope that had been keeping the ship tied to the docks, but before he could pick up the gangplank, Hope emerged from the stairs, holding a piece of paper, looking at it with a frown on her face.

“What's wrong, love?”

She looked up at him, her frown starting to mix with confusion. “Who's this?” she asked, showing him the paper.

It was Milah's portrait.

“Oh,” he said, taking it in his hand. He hadn't looked at it in years, and it certainly didn't have the effect it once had... at least not in such intensity. He looked back at his daughter and realized that his momentary silence probably gave her the wrong idea.

“Who is that woman?” Her brows were now starting to furrow.

He smiled. Was she that insecure of how much he loved her mother?

“I'm not laughing,” she said seriously, and his smile dropped.

“I'm sorry. It's just... she's Milah. The woman from my tattoo.”

“Oh, so you have both her name and her drawing? So out in the open?”

“What? Love, what are you talking about?”

“Where is she now?”

It was then that he realized what she was worried about. “Sweetheart, Milah was from a long time ago. She died long before I met your mother.”

“So why do you still have that drawing?”

Before Killian could think how to phrase his answer, Hope's questions poured like rain.

“Why is her name on your arm? Why was the drawing hidden? I didn't find the chest on your desk, so I thought you meant the one under your bed, and the drawing was right on the top when I opened it. Did you draw it? Does mama know about it?”

Before he knew it, Killian had squared his shoulders in a defensive stance. “Your mother knows well about it. And be careful with that tone.”

“Oh, I have to be careful? Well okay, then.” She then turned, and before Killian could stop her, she walked on the gangplank and jumped off to the dock, now a significant jumping distance with how the ship had drifted away a bit.

“Hope! Wait!”

“Leave me alone!” she shouted as she stormed off, waving her hand dismissively at him.

_Bloody hell_ , Killian thought. What got into her? She'd seen his tattoo since she was very little but never actually asked him about it – he had lots of tattoos anyway, that one didn't seem like anything special to her – and why would she even doubt the love he and Emma shared...

Then it hit him; the world she grew up in was full of promises and examples of true love and happy endings, one neither he nor Emma had been used to even long after they found each other.

To her, it was first love is only and true love. Especially with her grandparents' glowing example.

Of course, she knew her mother had had Henry before her, but Hope probably couldn't imagine that despite the past Emma had had with Neal, she had once loved him.

No wonder Hope was now confused with him keeping a memory of the first person Killian had given his heart to.

He watched her walk stiffly along the gulf with her arms crossed, until she reached the end of the docks and settled on a bench, putting her feet up and bringing her knees close to her chest.

He sighed. Pre-teen angst was nothing new to him. He decided to set the old girl ready to be re-docked and let his daughter calm down before he went to talk to her.

Thinking a bit on it, he decided to take the portrait with him, and folded it away in his jacket's inner pocket. As he did so he realized how familiar yet different it felt. He'd done that, looked at it then folded it away, countless times in his centuries in Neverland.

But now the impact on his heart and soul was different; Milah would always have a place in his heart, but the whole of him had truly moved on.

He stayed on the ship for a little longer, replacing the old compass on his own before he decided enough time had passed for Hope to have calmed down.

She saw him approach, and to his relief she didn't move to leave. In fact, she didn't move at all. She was still sitting with her legs on the seat of the bench, her hands occupied on her lap. It was after he stepped close enough that he saw she was sketching on a small notepad she must have taken with her today.

“You know, Milah used to draw too,” he said.

Hope scoffed.

“It was because of her that I was encouraged to keep up drawing myself. I was really bad at it, at first.” He smiled widely and sat down next to her. “But she ended up giving me some tips, and eventually some lessons...”

“... until you drew her.” Her brows were still furrowed.

“Well, no. She drew that one herself. She didn't actually like it, said she'd do a better one.”

“Well, if she was so great, why didn't she make it?”

“Because she died soon after.”

Hope stopped drawing but didn't look up at him. It surprised him, however, how less burdened he felt by the mention of her death.

“How did she die?” Hope asked in a low voice.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps that's a story for another time. It's quite long, and it wasn't what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“You wanted to discuss why you have a drawing of another woman?”

He silently took out the paper from his pocket as he looked at her. “Sweetheart, Milah was my first love. I know that with how you grew up it's hard to imagine... but people can fall in love more than once.”

“So who did you love more?”

He shook his head. “That's not how love works. Every feeling is different. I loved Milah for who she was, and I love your mother for who she is... they both are similar and different in many ways.”

“So you won't cheat on mama?”

“What? Of course not, love. This feeling, is... it's different.” He scooted closer and threw his arm around her shoulders. “Grandma Snow and Grandpa David are different. They were each other's first love, and they managed to stay together all this time. Not everyone is so lucky, though. Milah and I... we weren't lucky, let's say.”

“Why do you still have the drawing?”

“Because she'll always be my first love. My heart now belongs to your mother, and you,” he said and booped her nose with his finger, causing her to smile, “but even though I don't think of Milah for a long time, and I haven't before you found the portrait, she will always have a place in my heart. And your mama knows all about it.” _Just like I know about her past_ , he thought. Maybe one day Hope will be ready to hear that too.

“What if she comes back?” Hope asked, barely masking her sudden worry.

“She won't, love. I watched her as she moved on.”

“Yeah, but what if she does? You always say that normal isn't Storybrooke's thing.”

“Do I say that? In that way?” he asked with mock offense. “Well, if she does come back, she already knows I've moved on. I know she'd be happy for me.” He unfolded the paper and let her see Milah's face. “Me keeping the drawing, and making a tattoo with her name, was in her memory. It feels different now, but those are not the kinds of things you just get rid of after someone is gone.”

“And what about you? Would you be happy she's alone?”

He sighed, thinking of how for Milah it was more important to be with her son in the afterlife than chasing after the love that moved on. “Not being with someone, as in married, doesn't necessarily mean one is miserable, love.”

“But everyone finds their true love here. It's like... a thing.”

“Well, some people find other kinds of true love. Like friends. Or brother and sister. Or a father with a daughter.”

“Like uncle Killian with Alice.”

“Exactly. Don't try to put labels on love, aye? When, or if, it comes for you, you'll know it.”

“Yes, papa,” she said and finally reached for the hug he waited for. “I'm sorry I shouted at you.”

“I almost shouted at you too, so I'm sorry too,” he said and kissed her hair, wild and red like his own mother's once was. “Now, are you still in for that sailing trip?”

She giggled. “Sure.”


End file.
